A Final Tribute
by blacktears
Summary: One of my rare attempts at seriousness-Harry is about to become Headmaster of Hogwarts and...er, this is short and I don't think I'm going to give any more away. PLEASE read and REVIEW! thanx.


**Disclaimer:** Only the basic plot of THIS story and the character Cryssa Blate belong to me-everything else is J.K. Rowlings. I'm not making money, don't sue me.   
**Note:** This is one of those rare fanfics that I, on occasion, write that is actually SERIOUS. It's not MEANT to be funny, and if you find it so, please don't tell me. It's a little disconected, I don't think I like the end and I want to think of a new name. If you have any suggestions, they are most welcome. Thank you.   
  


### A Final Tribute

  
  
Harry Potter meandered through the corridors of Hogwart's School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, his mind lingering on the past. The school had so much history, such a story and he was rather proud to be a part of that history.   
  
"Professor Potter?" Harry turned at the sound of a soft voice saying his name. Standing uncertainly a bit up the hall was Cryssa Blate, eyeing him openly. Harry smiled and beckoned the new Herbology professor over. "What are you doing up so late?" She asked.   
  
Harry sighed, leaning back on his heels, fingering his robe lightly. "I'm just thinking," he said, staring at the Fat Lady, snoozing in her painting.   
  
"Oh," Cryssa said awkwardly. This was her first year teaching at Hogwarts and she still wasn't settled in or used to have the famous Harry Potter as a co-worker. Most first-year students acted the same way towards their Defense Against Dark Arts teacher until they had grown used to him.   
  
Harry glanced at her with a small smile. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it here," he said, refering to himself as much as the building, though he would never sau so so directly.   
  
"Are you thinking about tomorrow?" Cryssa asked, watching the wizard carefully. Dark hair already greying, Harry stood straight and clean shaven. His long robes were simple, despite his wealth. His facial expressions were agrivatingly difficult to read at times.   
  
"In part," The proffessor admitted. "I was actually thinking about Hermione more, though."   
  
"Oh," the young herbologist turned her eyes downward, not sure what to say in response to that. "I'm sorry." It sounded lame.   
  
"Don't be." Harry replied, crossing his hands in front of him with only a slight rustle of his robes. He looked down at the younger proffessor. "You never knew her well, did you?"   
  
"No," Cryssa answered. "I only spoke to her twice-though I'd seen her around the halls some. She seemed like a good Headmistress...."   
  
Harry nodded, looking straight forward once again at the slowly shifting painting on the wall before him. "She was," he said with a faint sigh. "She was also a very good friend-she was one of my best friends from when I was a first year here."   
  
"You two went to school together?" Cryssa asked, surprised.   
  
The Defense Against Dark Arts teacher nodded. "Yeah-we got in all sorts of trouble." His lips twisted up into a small lopsided smile as he remembered it. He sighed and the smile faded.   
  
"Um," Cryssa started uncomfortably. "What happened? I mean, why did she decide to step down as Headmistress?"   
  
Harry was silent a bit, Cryssa watching him anxiously. "She was diagnosed," he began at long last. "With an odd disease that no one could identify or cure. It was eating her strength-she grew pale and gaunt and was constantly tired. It was obviously killing her,"   
  
Cryssa slowly shut her mouth as Harry took a deep breath. She was about to offer her condolances when he continued with his story.   
  
"She decided that she wanted to spend her last living time, however long that might be, travelling and visiting old friends-of which she had made many." Harry told the younger teacher. "So she resigned, arranging for me to take place as the school's Headmaster, and has been bouncing around the world ever since."   
  
"Have you heard from her?" Cryssa asked, feeling slightly relieved to hear that the witch hadn't died from her odd disease.   
  
"I got an owl from her about a week ago," Harry replied, thoughtfully. "She was in Calcutta at the time and very happy. Her grandson, Henred, has been travelling with her recently because of her illness-he added that he thinks she won't live long, and that it ought to be a release for her at this point rather than an untimely end."   
  
"Thats good." Cryssa said. She gave a little yawn.   
  
"Tired?" Harry glanced at her.   
  
"Well, a little," she admitted. "It IS late,"   
  
"Yes," the older wizard's voice was a little vague and far off sounding, as though he was drifting into his thoughts once again. He looked down at her. "Go to bed, I'll see you tomorrow at the new Headmaster's ceremony."   
  
Cryssa started away, glancing back at her mentor uncertainly. From the way he had been talking, he sounded all too depressed. He was simply staring at the sleeping Fat Lady, unaware or ignoring her hesitation. With a mental shrug, she started off.   
  
Harry's eyes flicked to the retreating woman, then back to the painting. "Come on out, Hedwig," he said after the Herbology teacher had disapeared from view.   
  
With a soft hoot and the feathery swoop of wings, the snowy white owl, Hedwig, who had served Harry faithfully for years, flew out of the shadows, a small partchment tied neatly to her leg. She landed on the wizard's shoulder smoothly, and , without looking, Harry reached up to untie the partchment.   
  
He unrolled it before him, and read it quietly to himself. When he lowered it, Hedwig nudged his ear with her beak. "You know what it says," he said, reaching up to stroke the feathery head. He put his palm out, the partchment in it, and with a muttered word, the paper burst into silent flames that burned cold on his palm. He let them burn long past the paper, till they tinged blue, as a final tribute to his life long friend before heading to bed.   
  
  
  
  
  
The End.   
I hope you like it.....


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